Musicophilia

Musicophilia: Tales of
Music and the Brain,
by Oliver Sacks.

Those who know me well are aware that I spend considerable time walking my dog Suki. Usually during these walks I am listening to recorded books. Being too cheap to spend money on this habit, I borrow these recordings from the Rochester Hills Public Library. They have a impressive selection, but Suki and I have been at this for a while (she is almost 11 years old), and I have slowly worked my way through their stock of recordings in genres that I ordinarily listen to; science, history, and biography. I don’t view this as a problem, because it has forced me to sample books about topics I would not ordinarily listen to. The most recent example is Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain, by Oliver Sacks. Perhaps you object that this is a science book, but I view it more as a medical book outside my normal experience. Regardless, I was pleasantly surprised to find considerable medical physics discussed.

I had listened previously to Sacks’s delightfully-titled The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, so I knew what I was getting into. In Musicophilia, Sacks discusses a variety of abnormalities in the perception of music. For instance, he begins with musical hallucinations. This is more than just having a song stuck in your head. These were examples from his clinical practice of people who had, say, suffered a brain injury and afterward would hear music in their mind that they could not distinguish from real music. They sometimes could not turn it on or off, but were stuck with it more or less continuously. Another example is people who, after a stroke, lost the ability to hear music as music. An opera sounds like someone screaming, and a symphony like pots and pans crashing onto the floor. In one case he related, this occurred to a former professional musician. It’s amazing.

Sacks describes all sorts of brain studies being done to examine these patients. There is considerable discussion of data measured using electroencephalography, magnetoencephalography, positron emission tomography, functional magnetic resonance imaging, and transcranial magnetic stimulation—all of which Russ Hobbie and I analyze in the 4th edition of Intermediate Physics for Medicine and Biology. For me, hearing these stories makes me nostalgic for my years working at the National Institutes of Health, where I used to collaborate with neurologists such as Mark Hallett (whose research is mentioned by Sacks). Hallett and his team studied all sorts of odd diseases while I was helping them develop magnetic stimulation. In this case, we physicists and engineers were not discovering new biological ideas or medical abnormalities, but we were providing the tools for others to make these discoveries. And, oh, what tools!

Sacks notes there are some patients who have lost their ability to tell which of two tones is the higher pitch (but can still hum a song). These patients are in contrast with those rare individuals with perfect or absolute pitch; they can tell what note a sound is when heard in isolation. My sister has something approaching perfect pitch. When I was in high school, I took piano lessons. Whenever I played a wrong note while practicing (which was quite often) she would call out from an adjacent room “F-sharp!” or “B-flat!” Do you know how annoying it is not only to have your mistakes pointed out for all to hear, but also to have the specific note identified precisely? Worst of all, she was always right. Some of these piano pieces she had played herself, but others she had not; she was just able to identify the pitch. I have always envied people with perfect pitch, but Sacks raises an interesting point. If people with perfect pitch hear a song played flawlessly but in the wrong key, they get all agitated and upset (he compared this to seeing a painting with all the colors wrong). I, on the other hand, would remain blissfully unaware of the problem. When I was in graduate school in Nashville, I bought a used piano from a blind fellow who refurbished pianos for a living. This particular piano was so old that he could not tighten its strings completely, so the piano was tuned about 3 steps too low (He gave me a good deal on it). The improper tuning never bothered me in the least (my sister hated that piano). However, sometimes my weakness with tonal discrimination has caused me some embarrassment. I played tuba in my high school band, and before concerts the director would have us all “tune up”. The first clarinet would play a note, and we would each play the same note in turn to make sure we were in tune. I always hated this, because I could never tell if I was sharp or flat, and the director would usually end up yelling at me in frustration “You’re flat. Flat! Push the tuning slide in!”

Sacks’s book got me to thinking about all sorts of unusual sensory perceptions. He describes people who could hear but could not perceive music, and I thought it must be like someone born without sight. But Sacks had a better analogy; imagine someone born colorblind (say, completely color blind, instead of just lacking one of three color receptors). How do you describe color to such a person? It has no meaning. How do you describe music to someone born unable to make sense of it? Then I began thinking of other odd sensory inputs, like magnetoreception and the ability to perceive the polarization of light. Humans can’t perceive these signals, but other species can. If you will let me indulge in a bit of anthropomorphization, I suspect there are some bird families who sit in their nest at night saying to each other “those humans can’t perceive magnetic fields or polarization! How to they ever get home?”

Finally, for those of you who know Suki, let me provide a quick update. Earlier this year she damaged her anterior cruciate ligament, and our walks came to an abrupt halt. After much debate (she is a small dog, and is 10 years old) we decided to have her undergo surgery. The veterinary surgeon Dr. McAbee did a marvelous job, and we are now back to our walks as if nothing ever happened.